Lost Comforts
by WritePassion
Summary: Team Westen is on the run, and they find that some comforts are fleeting but worth the risk.


_Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it._

_With all the darkness and tragedy in S6, I decided to opt for a little levity. I hope you enjoy it!_

**Lost Comforts**

By WritePassion

_When you're a spy, and circumstances require you to go into hiding, away from your family, friends, and everything that you love, it can be rough. It's a day to day struggle to survive, and whenever you find a small shred of something that reminds you of the comfort of home or a more pleasant part of your past, you have to consider what you will do to get it._

The asphalt stretched out for a half block in front of the building. It was so early, the lights weren't on yet, leaving the parking lot in darkness. In the shadows beneath a large shade tree to the side, a small car sat with two occupants in the front. The leather seat creaked as she shifted and leaned back. No need to be tense. There was still time before the operation would go down.

"Fi, are you in position," Michael asked.

"I'm here, Michael. Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Positive. We've got the list, and while we're in there, I promise we'll get something for you too."

"Okay." She let out a breath. "Are you... ah, I see you and Sam now."

"We're in position."

Jesse tapped his fingers on the arm rest. "You know this is a big risk they're taking. I hope it's worth it."

Fiona turned to Jesse. "Michael hasn't had a lot to bring joy to his life lately, and knowing this, this is going to end soon... well, it doesn't help matters." She sighed, turned, and stared out the windshield at the two shadows moving closer to the door. "They better bring me a dozen."

Lights flicked on inside the building, bleeding out to the mini-mall's sidewalk. Sam and Michael plastered themselves against the columns near the door to avoid being seen, lurking in the shadows. A woman approached the doors and unlocked them.

"We're going in, Fi," Michael announced as he waved to Sam, who nodded and followed closely behind.

"Two minutes, Michael. If you're not out in that time, we risk being caught."

"I know, Fi. You don't have to tell me that, I know!"

Michael and Sam disappeared inside the store. She kept an eye on her watch while Jesse scanned the area for other cars or the police. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tatatap. His fingers beat faster until Fiona slammed her hand down on his to make them stop. Their eyes met in the glow from the dash, and in another time and place, he might have thought he'd seen something soft and affectionate there for him. But she only looked annoyed. There was no hope of him hooking up with her, or any other female for that matter, as long as the team remained on the run. Some things were more important than love, anyway. Like staying alive and surviving to some day live free again.

She muttered into the comm link. "Twenty seconds. Michael, you have twenty seconds."

Over the link, she heard Sam speaking. "Thank you, ma'am. Okay Mike, we're ready."

"Fi, pull up and we'll meet you in front."

She started the car and cruised to the entrance without the headlights, using the light spilling from inside the store as a guide. The tires scraped against the curb and she cringed. Two shadowy figures hurried out of the store, laden with several bags. Michael reached for the door handle, juggling his load at the same time, but the door wouldn't open.

"Fi, the lock! The lock!"

Grumbling at her mistake, she hit the button and heard a satisfying pop. Light rustling accompanied the bump and gasps of two men loading themselves and their booty into the back seat of the compact car.

"Move over, Mike! I need more room," Sam barked at him, and Michael crammed himself in until he was pressed against the door. Sam grabbed the handle and slammed the door. "Haul it, sister!"

Fiona put on the gas and squealed the tires as she took off into the early morning. The sooner they got back to their hideout before sunup, the better. No one discovered them yet at the abandoned cabin on a picturesque lake somewhere in the Midwest, and with luck, they might be able to spend the winter there. By spring, maybe things would have cooled down enough for them to try to clear their names and get the CIA off their backs. Until then, they would sit tight and try to stay comfy.

The car fit nicely into the shed, but there was barely enough room for the four to get out. Somehow, they always managed. The woods around them were starting to lighten, so there was not much time to get inside. Michael handed a couple of bags to Fiona, and Sam gave Jesse a couple, and the four ran to the back door, slipping inside and locking the door.

Inside the cabin, with the ratty old curtains drawn, little light came in from outside, which was the way it should be if the team wanted to remain on the loose. Fiona and Jesse unpacked the bags and put everything into the cupboards.

"I'll take one of these," Sam said with a smile as he plucked a beer from the six pack that Fiona almost snatched out from under his hand. "Anybody else want one?"

Fiona made a face. "Not now. It's not even eight o'clock in the morning!"

Sam didn't let that stop him from popping the top with his his handy pocket bottle opener. The cap pinged short of the garbage can. "Crap. Almost had that one." He downed a good third of it. "Ahh, it's been far too long." Hugging the bottle would have been embarrassing, so he simply curled his hand around it and chuckled in glee as he took it to where a rickety chair stood near the front entrance, the position perfectly situated for him to do guard duty. A semi-automatic rifle sat propped against the wall next to him.

Michael eyed the last bag on the table. He knew it held the one thing that he'd been craving, and after hearing the news, it would be especially bittersweet to taste it. With two hands, he pushed the crinkling plastic down to the table, exposing the box. He licked his lips.

"Are you going to open that thing or make love to it," Jesse asked.

Michael's eyes darted up to Jesse's. "Do you mind? I'm having a... a childhood moment here." He found the tab and with a slow and deliberate motion he pulled it. The cardboard released with a familiar pop and rip until he reached the end. As if he were disarming a bomb, Michael slipped his fingers under the tabs on the side, around the front, and let out a soft breath as the box opened. He pushed the lid back, exposing the contents. Jesse reached for one wrapped package while Michael started on the opposite side. He tore into it, stripping the plastic down like a banana peel.

"Mmmph." Jesse spoke around his first bite. "Oh man, that's good."

"Brings back memories, huh," Michael said with his mouth full.

From his post at the door, Sam took another swig of beer. "You guys are pathetic, you know that? They're just stupid Twinkies, for crying out loud."

You would have thought that Sam shot them both by the stunned look on their faces. "Sam, these are... they're almost extinct," Jesse stammered.

"We probably got the last of the boxes," Michael said. "You saw yourself, Sam. The shelves are empty now. This is it, this box, the Ding Dongs and the Ho Hos. After this, there is no more! Ever!" A near sob came out of him. He crumbled in his chair. "After this, a piece of our childhoods will be gone."

"What do you think of this, Fi?" Sam turned his attention to her.

Her eyes were wide, and her tongue flicked out to catch a spot of cherry pie filling that clung to the corner of her mouth. "Well at least I can still get the pies."

"No, Fi. The company is going out of business. No more pies, no more Twinkies, no more anything Hostess."

"No," Sam croaked and half stood. "Wait a minute... no more Wonder Bread?"

Michael turned to him. "Sorry, Sam. No more Wonder Bread."

"Aw, crap! Why didn't you tell me, Mike? I would have bought a few more loaves!" He finished off his beer, and asked, "Can somebody take my post for a second?"

Jesse finished his second Twinkie and sat in Sam's place while he retreated to the kitchen. He made himself a peanut butter sandwich, grabbed another beer, and returned to his seat. Everyone noticed that he spent more time working on the sandwich than the beer. It was a sad day when word came about the company folding. It wasn't as tragic as the events that led them to this place, but knowing that the stuff of childhood would soon be a memory was enough to make a grown spy cry.

Somehow they would endure. And maybe someone would rescue the recipes and bring back a little happiness for a lot of people some day. Freedom and simple lost pleasures for all.


End file.
